Il Russi Reloaded
by ComradeAngel
Summary: The Russians have been playing with cyborgs too. And the Americans. And the Chinese. Just about everybody wants their own set of psychotic little soldier dolls. (rewrite of another fic of the same name)
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Gunslinger Girl, though I do own the crazy Russian cyborg agency (at least, this fictional one). I haven't read the manga, so...animeverse. **

Sup? I figured I would try to rewrite this, better than before, because I really liked writing this fic. A guy (who I can't thank because he was only a Guest) wrote a review that made me feel all fuzzy inside and I decided I had to do this. I don't know why, but I just bloody hated the last fic. If you haven't read that...eeeh...I can't really put my finger on it, but it's bad. Hurah for inferiority complexes?

Anyways, hope you like it - feedback is appreciated. This is definitely going to be quite a bit different than the old one... 

* * *

It had started as a simple enough mission.

Snipe a man standing on the balcony of his eighth story hotel room in the middle of the night, and then move in to mop up the aftermath.

The man in question was a wealthy Russian oil tycoon, whose multinational conglomerate apparently posed a threat to Italian national security…and the security of a very high up government official's own corporation. Fuming at the fact that they once again had to act as political whores in order to stay afloat, the Social Welfare Agency nevertheless carried out the mission with the same skill and diligence as it would any other.

Of course, they weren't expecting such resistance when they began the operation. They really weren't expecting that resistance to be armed with such heavy weaponry...or to be willing to use such weapons around civillians.

The Veneziano Hotel in downtown Rome had quickly turned into a warzone.

It is at this point in time that we begin our story.

Triela and Hilshire sat in cover behind a black Mercedes Benz in the parking lot in front of the hotel, desperately trying to draw a bead on their unseen assailant. Henrietta and Jose were positioned only meters away behind a vehicle of their own, a German made sports car of some sort. Rico and Jean were positioned on the eighth story of a building across the parking lot from the hotel, which had just been hit by an unknown explosive device.

"Jean, what's your status?" Jose barked into his earpiece as Henrietta peaked around the hood of the car, jumping back as a spray of bullets flew past.

Static. Coughing. "I'm fine." Jean stated. "Rico, get up!"

Rico's voice declared that she was okay, then that her Dragunov was nowhere to be seen. Jean suddenly ordered Rico to "get down" as a single shot from a rifle rang out across the parking lot, letting it be known that the OpFor had a marksman of its own. Jose stuck the barrel of his handgun over top of the car's trunk and let off several shots without looking, which produced a shout of pain from someone on the other side. Jose motioned for the other fratello to advance. Suddenly shouting rang out from across the parking lot in a foreign language. Before any of the Italians could react, the vehicle the Triela-Hilshire fratello had been using for cover had been catapulted three meters in the air over their heads, crashing into other cars behind them, triggering a cacophony of alarms. Triela instinctively threw up her arm to protect her face, and felt the steel of a knife blade dig into her lower left arm. With her other arm, the Tunisian girl attempted to punch her attacker; her right wrist was grabbed and twisted painfully as the knife was ripped from her arm, leaving a deep gash from the middle of the arm to the wrist. Her assailant tried to drive the blade through her eye this time; Triela sidestepped around him, twisting her own wrist, but gaining purchase on the enemy. She delivered a sweeping kick, knocking the man's legs out from under him. The man landed sprawled out on his back; Triela immediately drew her handgun and aimed for the head. With his thumb, the man pulled a pin on the knife. The ballistic blade flew from its handle, driving itself into Triela's abdomen. The girl pulled the trigger, missing by a few inches and hitting the man's shoulder. She dove for her shotgun, and then raised it to meet the enemy. To her surprise, it wasn't a man attacking her at all – it was a boy, roughly the same height as her. His pale skin, icy blue eyes, and tow-colored hair gave him the appearance of a walking ghost, especially in the moonlight.

Unfazed by the bullet embedded in his shoulder blade, the boy clutched an AN-94 in his hands, staring right down the barrel of Triela's M1897, training his own weapon between her eyes as well.

"_Suka!_" he hissed, his voice making Triela's blood run cold.

They were at an impasse. Someone had to shoot first. The boy apparently had no issue with doing that. He pulled the trigger. 5.45x39mm rounds rocketed out of the barrel of the assault rifle in lightning quick two-round bursts. Triela pulled her own trigger as she fell backwards, sending a twelve gauge round into the boy's chest at point blank range, sending him backwards as well.

Henrietta stopped firing her P90, calling out her friend's name, and began running towards her. An entire freight train seemed to plowed into the little girl's left side as someone tackled her to the ground, their momentum allowing them to somersault to their feet afterwards. The attacker spun around and trained his own AN-94 on Henrietta's head, but was shoved to the ground by Jose just as he pulled the trigger, a two round burst somehow finding its way to Henrietta's right leg. Jose scooped Henrietta up in his arms as Hilshire the same with Triela. Both were unconscious from the blows they had just received to the head.

"Triela and Henrietta are down!" Hilshire shouted into his earpiece. "Repeat, two friendlies down! We need to get the hell out of here!"

Both men sprinted towards the convoy of black vehicles parked on the street that the parking lot led out to. To their horror, a rocket propelled grenade blew past them and struck the side of the convoy's lead vehicle. The van didn't fly, as you might expect, but rather skidded for several meters before rolling over onto the side that didn't have a massive hole in it. Before the hostiles could get off another shot, the men piled into the back of a van with their cyborgs where a medic waited, while Jean and Rico entered vehicle that found itself the new leader of the convoy. The vehicles sped off.

Jose and Hilshire allowed themselves a moment to breath as the convoy weaved through the traffic in downtown Rome, looking down at their unconscious cyborgs in silence, attempting to stop the blood flowing from both in silence. It was Jean who broke the silence over the radio.

"I think we lost them." Jean said.

No response.

"What happened back there?" he asked. "We were decimated."

Hilshire answered. "What happened? Somebody else was playing with cyborgs, that's what happened."

Jean responded almost immediately, giving Hilshire the feeling that the blonde had come to that conclusion already. "It was only a matter of time. I mean, we couldn't have been the only country with this kind of technology. Hell, we probably got it from the Americans or the Brits."

"So, what, the Russians have their own cyborg girls and they were carrying out a favor of their own?"

"It sure looks that way. But those weren't little girls - they were boys. Teenagers. Rico and I had a pretty good view."

"Teenage boys who chucked an entire car across a parking lot?"

"Stranger things have happened."


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm glad you guys are alright." Claes said, flipping the page of her book while laying in her bunk above where Triela sat. "From what I hear, your injuries were pretty serious."

"Yeah." Henrietta replied, sitting at a table in the middle of the room with Rico, playing with a small stuffed bear. "But Triela got the worst of it."

"Point blank fire to the chest from a Russian AN-94." Triela confirmed bitterly. "That's what Hilshire told me. It was a miracle that I pulled through."

"Don't look so sad about it!" Rico sweetly scolded her elder. "You're alive and you're stronger because of it!"

Triela only continued to leer at the carpet between her feet. Claes went back to reading, the two younger girls to playing. Several minutes later, Triela simply said one word. "Pinocchio."

Everybody looked up. "What?" Henrietta asked, confused.

"Pinocchio. The guy who shot me; he reminded me of Pinocchio."

The girls were all silent for a moment.

"What, are you going to wage a personal vendetta against this guy too?" Claes asked harshly.

Triela twisted around to glare up at the bespectacled girl. "No, I just...I can't believe he...beat me."

Claes rolled her eyes. "From what I heard, it was pretty even. The only reason you didn't kick his butt was because he was more ready to die than you. And that _shouldn't_ be something you strive for." The black haired girl spun to dangle her legs over the side of the bunk bed and hopped down, crossing the room to a short bookcase by the window. "Besides," she said, plopping a large book down on the table Rico and Henrietta were seated at. "Russia is a big country, with a lot more resources than Italy." Claes opened the book, an atlas, and quickly found a page showing the massive, elongated country highlighted in green against a greyed out Asia, of which is encompassed nearly all of the northern half. "Russia used to be the biggest part of the Soviet Union, and historically the Soviet Union was one of the most powerful nations in history, along with the United States. By comparison, Italy is a baby." She flipped to another page showcasing Italy in a similar fashion, with photos of the Colosseum in Rome and the Leaning Tower of Pisa on the page beside it providing a short summary of the country's most notable features.

"What are you trying to say?" Triela asked, leaning over the book, one eyebrow raised.

"I'm saying that there's probably no shame in losing to that guy." She rapped her knuckles gently against her own skull. "We're, you know, cyborgs. We've got all sorts of crazy technology inside of us. If little old Italy can do this, imagine what a major player like America, China, or in this case, Russia, can do."

Triela's brow furrowed. "You're not helping." she stated, only feeling even more inferior and defeated.

Claes sighed and threw her hands up, palms out. "Fine." she said, exasperated. "Wallow in your self-loathing."

Claes returned to her perch and her book, while the younger girls returned the atlas to its proper place on the bookshelf and invited Triela to play with them.

* * *

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU RAD! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU UNTIL YOU'RE DEAD!"

Laughter flew in the face of this threat as two young boys rocketed past Sevastian Grupin, followed by a significantly taller and older boy, who was soaking wet, the source of the shouting.

"This is why nobody should be alone with these monsters..." the grim man mused, watching the trio disappear around a corner. He shouted after them. "Andrei! Leave them alone! You know they're just playing!"

The older boy returned from the room he had just run into. "Little idiots must've crawled somewhere I can't get to." he explained, removing his dark green jacket.

Sevastian had to fight to stop himself from smirking. "What happened?" he asked, as if he couldn't already guess.

"They sneaked up on me while I was sleeping. Dumped water on me."

"That had to have made a mess. Don't worry, I'll make them clean it up."

A playfully scared squeal came from somewhere, then a thump. A tan boy with black, curly hair, the same age as Andrei emerged from where the younger boys had run, carrying a laughing and struggling blonde boy in his arms.

"Lyosha!" Andrei exclaimed, throwing open his arms. "Good work, Dzha."

Dzhalal smiled. "All in a day's work." he said.

Andrei approached the captive boy. "So, Lyo, tell me - where is your partner in crime?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Lyo asserted.

"Reveal to me the location of Radomir!"

"Never!"

The two older boys nodded silently to one another, and in sync each grabbed one of Lyo's ankles, hoisting him upside down so they he dangled by them. He flailed around in mock panic.

"I'm going to count to three!" Andrei declared.

"You'll never break me!"

"One."

"Just do it, Lyo. He's not worth it." Dzhalal warned.

Lyo responded by sticking his tongue out.

"TWO!" Andrei suddenly shouted, before proceeding to aggressively tickle the younger boy's side with his free hand.

"What happened to three?!" Lyo squealed, face bright red with laughter at this point.

"Gives you too much time to think!" Andrei explained. "Come on, where's Rad?"

The younger boy finally conceded. "Second floor toilet!" he cried. The older boys dropped him and bolted off in the direction of the stairs, Lyosha trailing behind them, giggling.

"Don't hurt him too badly!" Sevastian called after the boys, shaking his head.

A quaint Italian villa in the middle of the Tuscan countryside was certainly not where one would expect to find Russian children, or a veritable arsenal hidden in a wine cellar. This made the winter home of a prominent Russian military official a particular useful staging ground for operations in Italy...and around the Mediterranean.

Sevastian Grupin had drawn the short straw, so to speak. While the rest of his friends and colleagues were off at a meeting at a safehouse in Rome, he was responsible for looking after the decidedly rowdy and troublesome cyborgs of the Federal Program for Disadvantaged Children - shortened to 'Agency for Disadvantaged Children' and abbreviated in Russian as the 'ADOD'. None of the cyborgs were his - he wouldn't wish the responsibility of virtually adopting one of the little abominations upon anybody. He was just assigned to Squad Three as support. The former Spetsnaz operative was getting old, and though he had been raised in the godless Soviet Union, his faith and lifelong bitterness prevented him from getting too involved in such a heinous program left over from the old regime; but the pay was good, and he only had to babysit a handful of boys who literally had on-off switches, so he set his scruples aside. It always amazed the man how a little one like Lyosha could go from a ruthless, unfeeling, elite assassin, to a sweet, mischievous little boy in a matter of seconds. Sevastian had seen how these cyborgs were made - how their skeleton was nearly entirely replaced with synthetic alloys masked in a Kevlar, then hidden by skin; how the computers were buried deep within their brains and their eyes glinted with things that no human being should be able to see. It was bizarre, going to pick up a little boy like Radomir, only to find that he was more than a hundred pounds heavier than a child his size should be. They were abominations against God, but so long as he made sure they didn't drown in the shower or shoot themselves in the foot, he was well fed, well housed, and had a steady supply of vodka.

Sevastian went to go sit down, perhaps take a nap, when a squeal erupted from upstairs, followed by a heavy thump. Andrei and Dzhalal had successfully hunted down their target. Sevastian listened to the thumping of the boys' footsteps for a moment, another thump...then the one sound he absolutely shouldn't be able to hear from these boys. Coughing. He was told it was impossible for them to fall ill, and nearly impossible to tire them or knock the wind out of them. Had their roughhousing finally gotten the best of them? A small, black haired boy with almond-shaped eyes appeared in the doorway of the sitting room, cautiously peering around the corner at Sevastian.

"Maksim?" Sevastian asked. "What's wrong?"

"Sir, it's Andrei." Maksim said.

Wordlessly, Sevastian blew past the boy and up the stairs. If anything happened to the government's toys on his watch...he couldn't even finish the thought. Charging down the hall, he found the still soaked Andrei sitting on the floor outside the bathroom, leaning against the wall, coughing violently. Dzhalal knelt beside his friend, helpless to do anything but watch, while Lyosha and Radomir watched from the bathroom.

"What happened?" Sevastian demanded, crouching beside the boy.

"His chest." Dzhalal stated. "Rad hit him in his chest."

"Damn it. I thought your handlers told you to take it easy and be careful! We're a thousand miles from Moscow and that slug broke some ribs. A normal person might not do much, but if one gets too rough..."

A moment later, the coughing subsided, and Andrei stood, shaking off Dzhalal's supportive hand, insisting that he was fine. Andrei took a few deep breaths, and cracked his neck.

"I'm fine. Great. I'm just playing on a higher difficulty than you guys." he said confidently, crossing his arms and smirking at the younger boys. "Now, we have unfinished business." Radomir and Lyosha blanched.

Sevastian nodded. "You two, clean up the mess you made"

The boys stood up straighter. "Yes sir!"

As they bolted down the hall, Sevastian looked to Maksim, who hung back uncertainly. He considered sending the boy to ensure the task was completed, but decided against it.

He looked back to Andrei. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah." The boy sighed heavily. "Just wait. Let's see how tough that little fairy is when the GRU comes down on her whole team..."

"Like God's wrath, man." Dzhalal assured his comrade. "Like God's wrath."


End file.
